


Breeding Puppy Sherlock

by Nonnie (Anonymous_Account)



Series: Breeding Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Consensual Sex, Incest, M/M, Other, Puppy Play, Slight D/s Dynamics, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Account/pseuds/Nonnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Sherlock have a rather unorthodox relationship based in somewhat innocent puppy play.  However, there <i>is</i> one taboo aspect both of them have been curious to explore...  Turns out Greg's a bit curious, too!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breeding Puppy Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction - not reality. Several things happen in fiction that people would not necessarily condone in real life. People who enjoy murder mysteries do not necessarily condone murder; the same can be said of people who enjoy reading a little bit of idealized bestiality - where everyone and everything can be vouched for as being 100% consensual. Also, since this _is_ fiction, wherein the author has made sure to express everyone's consent, I am not labelling it dub-con. Sure, in real life, even an enthusiastic furry partner may still count as dub-con because you can't ever really know. But, as I said, this is fiction - not real life.
> 
> If this is something you're not into, then do not read it. Simple as that. If you read something you know you're not going to like just so you can complain about how sick and awful it was when you've finished it, that says more about you than it does about me (and actually, I'll have comment moderation on anyway, so it's fairly pointless).
> 
> There are actually very few bestiality fics out there (understandably because people are quite nervous about writing them), though there are many people who are interested in the fantasy aspects of it. So far, the fics I've found tend toward the darker side of things. I wanted to fill a niche by writing one that was still very kinky, but not so dark - one that would end happily for everyone. I hope you find it enjoyable!

Mycroft had shown up at more than one crime scene since his brother had started consulting - never to Sherlock’s complete delight, but at least he’d waited until Sherlock had mostly wrapped things up.

At first Mycroft had written it off as passing interest or appreciation of his brother's looks, but it seemed whatever interest the Detective Inspector had in Sherlock was pretty long-standing. Trust Sherlock not to notice.

The DI, however, despite his glances, gave every indication of being straight - so it was a puzzle, to say the least.

Continued observations, here and there, as he dropped in on one crime scene or another over the years, told him that the man's marriage was in trouble - and had been probably long before he'd become aware of it; that he was often simultaneously irritated and impressed by Sherlock; that he had three children, the oldest having been a newborn when Mycroft had first met him, all ranging between 3 and 5 years old now; and a dog which he considered his best friend.

Later, it seemed it was always after an exasperating remark that the DI either glanced aggravatedly over at Sherlock or bent to examine his clothes for dog hair, when the two clicked in his mind.

Mycroft sauntered over to him to confirm his suspicions, a mischievous smile stealing over his face... _who would have thought??_ As interesting as that was, it was still likely to have been only a vague musing every so often. He’d probably never seen it through with anyone.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he greeted as he approached.

The two men had had occasion to talk many times over the years, but unless it was random small talk, discussion of the crime scene, or various things about Sherlock, they hadn’t covered much ground.

Greg looked up from where he was observing Sherlock and smiled, nodding.

“A bit of a difficult one, this?” Mycroft enquired.

“A bit,” Greg sighed. “Why? Tell me you’ve got a solution ready and save me some work.”

“No, I’m afraid that is my brother’s forté. I’m able to pick up on quite a few things, certainly, but puzzling out crimes of this nature is best left to him. Fieldwork is not my speciality.” He sighed for a moment, lapsing into quiet as the both of them watched Sherlock flit around the crime scene.

Mycroft’s eyes flicked over to Greg for a moment before staring forward again. “You’ve got a dog, I see, Detective?”

“What?” he asked, momentarily coming back from his observations. “Oh yeah, family dog. Had another but she died a while back. Like the breed though, so we got another one - male this time.”

_A male which he’d likely kept intact - the inspector didn’t seem a man that could in good conscience alter another male._

“German Shepherd?”

Greg just smiled, used to this sort of observation from the two. “Yup.”

“Quite a handful?”

“Was, a bit, as a pup, but he’s almost two now, settled down quite a bit. Pretty easy-going, actually.”

_Hmm… how to go about this…_

“Ever mated him? Sired puppies?”

The conversation had taken a somewhat odd turn, but there might be a reason for it. “No, not a purebred. Why? You interested in one? I know a good breeder; same person we got ours from, though he came from an unscheduled romp with an ‘unrefined’, or at least non-pedigreed, friend.”

“No. I’m too busy most of the time to care for a dog, much less a pup.”

There was silence once more as they each watched Sherlock, now gesticulating this way and that, trying to explain something, or urge someone to collect a sample - probably both. John wasn’t here with him today, so he felt the need to rattle off his observations to somebody, and whoever was nearest got drafted into the job.

“There’s a case before the court on bestiality, you know,” Mycroft lied, waiting to gauge Lestrade’s reaction.

Having just been staring at Sherlock, Greg started a little and eyed Mycroft cautiously from his peripheral vision, wondering how much the man may have surmised about his private thoughts. But Mycroft looked perfectly placid, still staring straight ahead, and it did have to do, tangentially, with what they’d been talking about.

“What do you think on the matter, Detective?” he asked, pausing only a second before adding his own opinion. “I can see the argument in the case of penetrative sex on the animal, as one can never ascertain the consent clearly in that case; but when it comes to a male animal penetrating a human, well… it would seem fairly certain that they were more than up for it.”

Greg cleared his throat and blushed deeply, checking side-eyed that Mycroft was still watching the scene in front of them and that this was just idle chit-chat.

“Um… yeah… Never really thought about it much, to be honest.”

_Liar, Mycroft grinned inwardly._

“But sure, that’s definitely an argument to be had. I guess I don’t see anything wrong with it in that case… if that’s something someone really wants to do….”

Mycroft let a small grin cross his face this time as, eyes still locked on Sherlock, he muttered, “It _would_ shut him up though, wouldn’t it?”

Greg blinked and possibly would have spilt his coffee had he had one.

“Wh-what?”

“Come on, Inspector,” Mycroft said, taking him by the arm and gently leading him toward the café across the street. “Let’s talk.”

After a very confusing, then embarrassing, and finally enthralling conversation with Mycroft Holmes - after the two of them had finally got around to speaking plainly - Greg Lestrade left to return to the scene, a bemused and contemplative expression on his face.

~~~

A few weeks before had seen Sherlock at Mycroft’s home, naked, collared and cuffed; held on a lead as he remained on all fours. It was hard to say when this had all started. It was innocent enough as children, Mycroft indulging Sherlock when he’d decided he wanted to be a dog after giving up on the whole pirate scenario; at first playing fetch, then borrowing Redbeard’s collar and lead every so often. As Sherlock grew older, it seemed a tad more strange, but then at seven, he’d abandoned the fancy, or so it seemed. Which was fine - healthy - just a boy indulging his imagination and moving on; his older brother having just been playing along with him.

It came up again, awkwardly, when Sherlock was sixteen - a simple throwaway comment made by a parent at a family dinner - a ‘remember when Sherlock’ note of how cute it had been, Sherlock immediately blushing and dropping his eyes to his dinner plate, shifting uncomfortably. Which was remarkable, because Mycroft found himself having nearly the same reaction - not one he’d had when they’d been playing as youngsters, but now… the thought of having Sherlock on a leash was strangely appealing. Another topic thankfully came up and he dismissed the thought completely.

It was many more years before it was broached again, Sherlock working a case that involved a murder amongst a number of participants in puppy play. Oddly, it was the first time he’d been made aware of the existence of such a thing. Mycroft’s timing on that had been terrible as well, as he’d arrived to talk to Sherlock in time to see all the accoutrements: collars, leashes, mitts, cages, bowls… and the two of them had exchanged an uneasy glance.

A strained conversation, a few 'remember-when’s and a general sussing out of each other had resulted in their returning to it. Sherlock not naked at first, and only with a collar and lead, regressing a bit and playing at being a puppy, which also took Mycroft back and allowed him to relax and play with his puppy much as they had when Sherlock was little.

Then gradually, shy suggestions were introduced, at first as offhanded comments which could easily be dismissed if not embraced, though it seemed none of them were rejected; and Sherlock ended up with a collar, leash, wrist and ankle cuffs, mitts locked onto on his hands, naked, with a muzzle, cage, and even a cock-cage a little while after that - to prevent certain things from getting in the way during tummy rubs or other such play. They hadn’t gone in for a mask or a tail, neither needing nor desiring them, but pretty much everything else existed. And that’s as far as it had gone - the two of them meeting every so often and Sherlock becoming a playful, (mostly) obedient puppy - with Mycroft as his doting owner. It didn’t happen on anything like a regular basis - their schedules preventing that as much as their personalities - but often enough, and sometimes over more than a few days; Sherlock locked in his cage overnight, still done up as his puppy self.

It was over these extended times that Mycroft, slipping more deeply into his role, had talked about breeding his puppy.

At first it was all talk, but it gradually became apparent that the idea turned both of them on. Being mounted by his human ‘owner’ and brother never piqued any interest in either of them, and random mentions of being mated with another human ‘puppy’, at first interesting, always petered out, both of them uncomfortably intrigued with another unspoken idea which presented itself.

“It _would_ be interesting to see you mated with a real dog,” Mycroft eventually threw out there, because _someone_ had to get to the crux of the matter and it didn’t look as if it was going to be Sherlock.

Sherlock’s entire body flushed as he sat on the floor by Mycroft’s legs, swallowing hard, his collar bobbing. They’d both seen the interest in the other, but it was something that had been ignored, even Sherlock realising the impropriety of bringing it up.

Mycroft saved him by engaging him in puppy-mode. “Would you like that, puppy? Would you like a nice, big doggie to mate with?”

Sherlock ducked his head and whined ingratiatingly - it was the best he was going to do when it came to admitting he’d like to be fucked by a dog.

“He’d mount you, you know,” Mycroft continued, watching Sherlock’s reactions, as his brother turned an even deeper shade of pink, all over his cheeks, chest and back. “Already hard, he’d prod at you until his penis found your hole, then he’d scramble to position himself, pushing into you. They’re not like people, you know, there’s not much foreplay - a sniff or two, maybe a lick, then down to business.

“He’d be on his back legs, leaning over you, his front paws looking for a place to put themselves, and his hips would start to thrust back and forth quickly, sliding his cock rapidly in and out of you. They tend to have slimmer cocks than humans, though larger breeds can come close, and they swell rapidly once they're inside. You'd actually feel his cock growing and plumping inside you while he's thrusting.”

Sherlock shifted, completely uncomfortable, confined in his cock cage, and Mycroft absently stroked himself through his trousers every once in a while as he spoke.

“He’d pound into you wildly for a few minutes, then you’d feel his knot - the base of his penis - begin to inflate; and he’d push it into you while he still could, still pumping away inside you. You’d feel it grow, stretching you, growing and pushing inside you until you were about to burst.”

Sherlock’s hips were rocking as he sat, Mycroft’s words pouring into his ears, and Mycroft’s hand sliding more rapidly over his own lap.

“Then there would be the first jet of come, shooting into you, hotter than your body and even more noticeable because of it. You’d feel it erupt within you, then continue to, your insides flooded with his come as he bred you, coming non-stop, knotted inside you, for nearly twenty minutes, maybe even as many as forty. Do you think you could take it? Of course it wouldn’t matter - once he’d knotted you, you’d have to.

“Can you imagine what that would feel like? His large knot tying you together, filling you up, stretching you as he emptied himself inside you? You’d be panting, dripping, by the time he was done.”

Mycroft's voice cracked on the last word and he made a short, sharp sound as his hand ceased to move and just pressed into his lap while he shuddered and came, Sherlock’s hips snapping to and fro in a desperate attempt to do the same.

Panting after his release, Mycroft looked over at his desperate little brother, whining and rocking, no longer concerned with decency.

“Oh, it looks like my poor little puppy wants this just as much as his owner.” Mycroft drew out the key and unlocked the cock cage, Sherlock’s mitted hands fumbling wildly at it before it was even properly off. Mycroft moved them away and disconnected the device, letting Sherlock go to town on his poor neglected cock, suddenly springing to life after being freed from its prison, his mitted hands being poorly equipped to help. He had one on either side, desperately pumping at it, his hips still stuttering up into them.

They’d never done anything like it before, but it was rapidly becoming a frantic situation.

“Roll over, puppy.”

Sherlock complied without hesitation, rolling onto his back, belly up, like they did for tummy rubs, only this time his master’s hand, _oh, praise that hand!_ came down to grasp his cock and pull and stroke it for him, pumping him, Sherlock whining and thrusting wildly.

“Come on, puppy, think of that big doggie taking you, knotting you.”

That was all it took, Sherlock shivered and whined, then was coming in huge spurts all over himself and Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft mopped them both up after he was through, locked Sherlock’s cock cage back onto him and led him to his own cage to lock him in while he showered and changed his clothes.

Half an hour later, he came back to the cage, squatting down in front of it and feeding Sherlock a small chunk of beef jerky through the bars; Sherlock sitting there feeling incredibly shame-faced.

“I think, puppy,” Mycroft began solemnly, “that we need to do a little research, because I very much want to see that happen and I’m sure my horny little puppy wants it, too.”

Sherlock dropped his head and looked away.

“None of that. You were a very good puppy listening to my story and enjoying it so much, making me very glad I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Seeing you desperately trying to get off because of it, then finally coming to the thought of it, was wonderful. I’m even more dedicated to seeing you mated now.”

Another bit of jerky was fed through the bars and Sherlock, a little less hesitantly, took it.

“Lie down, puppy, have a nap and we’ll talk about this more thoroughly later.”

 

~~~

Much later, they were both sitting at the table, clothed and back into their normal roles. The discussion, however, was not.

“For me, the idea of being your owner, arranging for you to be mated, then watching as you take that cock I’d set up for you, is amazing. I don’t want to fuck you - you don’t want to fuck me; but watching you take it, being responsible for making that happen, would be incredible.” Mycroft was several shades of red, but he was being completely honest and they were things that needed to be said.

Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke up, just as red as his brother. “As a puppy, being owned, controlled, the situation out of my hands, is part of the draw. Bred because my master wants me to be, and used enthusiastically by the dog breeding me. The sensation of being knotted - filled - since it wouldn’t be my call, I’d be free to enjoy it - providing the dog with pleasure and the humans watching it, too...” Sherlock lowered his voice, speaking quietly, “my owner proud of me…”

“Oh, I would be!” Mycroft exclaimed, “You’d be such a good puppy, being bred just for me!”

Sherlock shut his eyes and groaned. He opened them a moment later. “But it’s never going to happen.”

Mycroft looked at him curiously.

“Neither of us are ever going to own a dog and even as much as the scenario may turn both of us on, it’s hardly going to happen often enough to make up for the time and expense of owning one, not to mention the incompatibility of a dog in either of our lives at the moment. It might also be confusing for the dog to mount me one day and have to obey me the next.

“There’s the possibility of getting to know people within a community who share these interests, but I would expect those groups are frequently monitored by agencies of one sort or another, not to mention it would put both of us at a great risk for blackmail - something that would irritate and humiliate me, but which could be completely disastrous for you.

“The only other option would be to look for one of these people amongst the friends and acquaintances we already have, ensuring discretion, but you have few contacts outside of work, and I have very few people in my life who even tolerate me, much less exhibit any sort of interest in that.”

 

Mycroft had resigned himself to the fact that Sherlock was right - there was no safe, feasible way to make it happen. So they’d made due with every so often, during play, Mycroft resorting to his storytelling skills to get both of them off.

Then Greg had happened and now everything stood in a completely new light.

~~~

It was weeks after that fateful discussion with the DI, and Mycroft had Sherlock with him again, playing and being companionable in a manner they simply couldn’t be any other way.

The fact that Greg would be arriving with his dog any time now was something he hadn’t shared with Sherlock, but he had begun to ensure Sherlock would be in the mood. Mycroft was idly rubbing Sherlock’s belly when he started talking again. “I’ve talked to a breeder, puppy.”

Sherlock’s cock immediately twitched within the confines of its cage, but otherwise Sherlock made no sign of understanding what was said.

“And he’s got a nice, big doggie he’d be willing to let seed you. I’m told he’s a very gentle doggie, but I’m sure he’d be eager to get his cock in you.”

Sherlock whined, expecting this was another of Mycroft’s stories, but imagining it was real nonetheless.

“He’s a German Shepherd and quite large - almost the size of an average human penis and that’s without the knot - I wonder if you could take him?”

Sherlock whined loudly and Mycroft took a second to muzzle him to keep him quiet.

“I’m just talking, puppy, there’s no need for you to get quite so excited,” Mycroft teased. “His owner, of course, would be here to watch, too, as he wants to see how both of you do. He’s been training his dog on how to stand and where to put its paws on a certain command, but he hasn’t shown him anything else - nothing sexual, and there’s never been a willing body in front of him. That, I’m sure the dog will figure out just fine by himself, once you’re situated.

“It will be the first time for both of you, which should be interesting, and like I said, I’m sure he’ll be more than eager to have you. I’ll bet you can already feel him sliding into you.”

The time was approaching and Mycroft got up, gently pulling on Sherlock’s leash until he scrambled onto all fours. “Come on, puppy, I’ve a surprise for you.” He led Sherlock halfway across the room, making him sit as he pulled something out from behind a chair and undraped it.

It was a nicely finished block of wood about as tall as Sherlock’s chest when he was on all fours, and almost as wide. There was a soft pad on top, some attachment points scattered around it, and a few leather straps. Mycroft pulled it into the middle of the room, then led Sherlock to it.

“Hup,” he said, patting the top of the block.

Sherlock knelt up, putting his paws on top of it.

“No,” Mycroft corrected, taking each of Sherlock’s arms and guiding them down on either side of the block, letting Sherlock’s chest come to rest on the pad. “Stay,” he instructed, and Sherlock did. Mycroft moved around the block, connecting Sherlock’s mitts to lower points near the front of the block; running the leather straps around each of his legs just above the knee and attaching those, slightly spread, to either side of the block as well; then running a thicker leather strap over the small of his back to lock him down to the block that way too; finally taking hold of his collar and clipping it on a very short chain to the front of the block, where his head hung over the side.

There was a knock on the front door and Sherlock looked faintly alarmed - he was out in the middle of the room - nowhere and no way to dodge out of sight. He looked up at Mycroft, wondering if he would simply send whoever it was away, or quickly let him out.

“It’s okay, puppy, it’s just your mate.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He looked at Mycroft for confirmation.

“No, I’m not joking, but if you’re not ready for this, I can send him away. Just now you were squirming for it, however. I’m not sure if I can get him to come back though. He’s excited at the prospect of seeing you bred, but he’s just as embarrassed by it as we are.”

He gazed at Sherlock who shifted nervously for a moment.

“He’s very trustworthy - no worries on that point.” He eyed his brother critically for another minute evaluating his state of mind. “Are you ready for this? Ready to be bred for me like a good puppy?”

Sherlock swallowed, then gave one sharp, decisive nod. He was going to be mounted and fucked by a large dog while his brother and some stranger watched, and he was nervous as hell.

“Stay,” Mycroft said unnecessarily, smiling broadly as he turned to answer the door. Sherlock heard him step into the foyer and the front door open. Good god, what was he getting himself into? His heart pounded in his chest just as much as his cock throbbed in its cage.

 

“Hey,” Greg greeted nervously, standing on the front step, a large, happy-looking German Shepherd on a leash with him.

“He’s all ready,” Mycroft reassured him, guiding him inside before shutting the door. “Doesn’t know it’s you though, keeps him from being too nervous about it, and I thought he’d like a bit of a surprise.”

Greg shifted from foot to foot, standing there, thinking about what they were about to do. It helped that Sherlock had been an absolute nightmare last time he’d seen him, as that always fired up his fantasy to see him mounted and fucked senseless.

“You’ve met Max,” he said, introducing them again, and the dog looked up, wagging his tail as Mycroft held out his hand for him to sniff.

Max did, then gave it a small nuzzle, obviously fishing for a pat, managing to weasel one out of him.

“Still a very nice dog,” Mycroft smiled. “Come on through, let’s get them acquainted.”

Sherlock heard the susurration of male voices cease, then the jingle of the dog's ID tags and the lead as they approached, Mycroft entering before… _Greg? Oh jesus…_ Sherlock shifted, eyes wide.

“Relax puppy, he wants to see you being bred, just like I do; we all share an interest - no harm in that. This,” he indicated, “is Max; he’ll be breeding you tonight, but we’re going to let him get a little bit acquainted with you first.”

Greg nodded hello a little sheepishly, blushing, taking in the look of a naked Sherlock all done up and ready to be mounted - but let the dog off his lead to trot forward and sniff at him: first his face, then at the strange, flat muzzle covering the lower part of it, then around to his sides, and curiously - and for once, uninterruptedly - at his privates. People had always pushed or pulled him away from those before, but now he was being given free rein to inspect, the whuffling breaths wafting across Sherlock’s arse cheeks.

“I have scent for him in a moment, to let Max know what he’s allowed to do,” Mycroft mentioned. “I’ll get him lubed up first.”

“Okay, yeah.. right.”

Mycroft nodded at the sideboard, “Pour yourself a drink, then we’ll get comfortable while we wait and let the fun begin.” Mycroft produced something that looked like a miniature caulk gun, gently nudged Max out of the way and pushed the nozzle shallowly into Sherlock, depressing the plunger and dispersing a substantial amount of lube into him. It was cold and embarrassing and Sherlock yelped just a little into his muzzle, prompting Max to walk back in front of him to figure out what the trouble was.

Mycroft reached over Sherlock’s back to either side of the block, swinging wedges out from the sides - something for Max to stand on, then draped a thin leather cover over most of Sherlock’s back to keep it from getting clawed if Max got overly excited.

Greg took the hint and called Max over behind Sherlock, showing him the wide wings jutting out from the stand. “Up!” he called, and confused only for a moment by the fact there was a body in the way, Max scooted in, got on his back paws, placing his front ones on the supports.

“Good boy,” Greg praised, giving Max a pat on the head and motioning for him to get back down. “Well, he knows what the position is, where to put his paws, and looks like he’s figured out how to do it with someone in front of him - let’s just hope he decides to put two and two together.”

“That would be the optimal outcome, yes.”

Neither one wanted to force Max into anything and just hoped with a little hint of what he could do, Max would take advantage of it.

Mycroft produced a small bottle and sprayed a few squirts over Sherlock’s nether regions, then moved back to his chair, as they both watched a newly-curious Max walk over to check out Sherlock again.

“A somewhat diluted pheromone of a bitch in heat,” Mycroft said. “It won’t fool him, but it should give him an idea of what’s allowed.”

Max wandered over, taking a large sniff, then walking around Sherlock, head tilted to the side, trying to figure out this new development, before going back to investigate further. His cock had responded, already stretching out of its sheath and beginning to drip. He nosed a little more at Sherlock’s arse and, no one telling him to stop, gave it a tentative lick.

Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned. He was about to be mounted and fucked, there was nothing he could do about it, it was horribly arousing, and that had just felt _good._

Max circled him again as everyone watched, waiting to see how it would unfold.

There was another swipe of a warm, wet tongue over his hole and Sherlock moaned again, muffled slightly. There was more sniffing, another walk around, sniffing again, then a slight scramble as Max got onto his hind legs behind Sherlock and began to prod at him randomly, hoping to find where he could slide in.

Sherlock’s eyes slid shut, anticipating what was to come, as Mycroft and Greg watched with bated breath to see if Max would settle or give it up and walk away.

Sure enough, after a dozen attempts, Max’s cock hit the mark and he pushed quickly into Sherlock, paws scrabbling around as he began a rapid staccato thrust into him.

Sherlock groaned, _he was really being fucked by a dog._ His cock twitched again in its cage, but it wouldn’t be granted any release until later - Max got to take his fill first.

There were matching groans from the spectator seats as both men watched Sherlock penetrated and used. Max worked Sherlock furiously, pounding in and out at an amazingly rapid pace before Sherlock felt the dog’s knot begin to swell. He grew a little worried as it increased in size, yet still remained outside his body. Too much larger and it would hurt like hell if the dog tried to get it in later. Thankfully, Max didn’t wait too long, stuffing himself in all the way, his knot inflating as he still moved back and forth.

“Good puppy. Feel his cock in you? Breeding you? You’re his bitch now, puppy; such a good dog,” Mycroft praised, watching Sherlock take the cock as it swelled and pushed inside.

“Go Max,” Greg murmured delightedly, watching him take Sherlock, hips thrusting, impaling Sherlock with every other move.

Max continued to thrust, his strokes foreshortened by the knot, but not abated. Sherlock could feel the cock hammering away inside of him, along with the slow swell of the knot stretching him inside. He grunted into the muzzle as Max bred him, the dog still hammering at him, then a hot spurt inside of him, followed by another and another, as Max continued moving.

Sherlock’s whole body shivered.

“Does he like you, puppy? Is he coming in you yet?”

That question was answered as a little bit of come leaked out of him, Max still pumping away.

“Oh yes, oh _god yes,_ he’s going to fill you full.” He could hear Mycroft rubbing at himself, watching him get taken.

The knot continued to inflate until poor Max could barely move, Sherlock giving little grunts of discomfort mixed with pleasure, then the dog twisted around to face away from him, Max’s cock still locked inside as it continued to pump his come deeply into Sherlock.

Sherlock was almost in another world - the unreality of it all: being watched as people enjoyed the spectacle; the feeling itself of being taken, filled so full; mated, bred, while there was nothing he could do about it. Enjoying it even though everything in society said it was absolutely taboo.

More come flooded into his arse, the knot throbbing inside him.

The two watching continued to take sips of their drinks, going back over what they’d just seen and evaluating it, talking about Sherlock as if he weren’t even there - or at least as if he were just another dog.

“Mmn,” Greg mumbled, lower lip between his teeth. “I liked that even more than I expected. Keep going Max, fill him full of come!” He groaned again, seeing a little bit more dribble out of Sherlock.

The night progressed, Max locked with Sherlock, pumping him full every single second of the next 35 minutes before his knot deflated and he finally slid free, a cascade of come flowing back out of Sherlock and onto a thick towel Mycroft had placed beneath him.

“Oh my god… you’re overflowing,” Greg breathed, watching Sherlock’s hole twitch as more dribbled out. “He must have filled you so full, puppy…”

Mycroft strode over to him, petting Sherlock’s head. “And he was a very good puppy, taking all that cock. I think Max likes his new friend a great deal.” He smiled, looking back and forth between the other two participants in this adventure.

“Yes,” Greg agreed. “No doubt about that.”

“Did you like it, puppy?”

Sherlock moaned appreciatively and blushed to his ears, making sure to avoid any eye contact. They might have liked it, but he suspected he’d liked it even more and that probably made it much more shameful on his end.

Mycroft sensed his guilt. “Don’t you dare feel bad. That got me going, puppy - watching you taken like that. And since you seemed to enjoy yourself, I think our visitors might stay for more. I’m sure Max will be in the mood again soon. Would that be alright with you, Greg?” His eyes flicked over toward the DI, still sat at one end of the couch, where he’d been enjoying the show.

His throat was dry, but Greg managed to croak out a very determined, “Yes, please,” clearing it to add, “… and Sherlock…or puppy... please no, don’t be embarrassed - that was incredible.”

Pleased, and somewhat reassured by their statements, Sherlock relaxed a little more. He might be the one enjoying getting fucked, but it sounded as if their appreciation of it was nearly on par with his own.

 

The two of them ate and chatted while Sherlock remained locked into position and Max explored the rest of the house, sniffing everything he came across, wandering in and out of the room several times, Sherlock’s heart thudding every time he returned.

Twenty minutes later, Max wandered back in yet again, whuffling at the baseboards and circling the perimeter of the room. On his second lap, Max seemed to take more of an interest in Sherlock again, making his way back over to take a sniff or two, nudging at his side with his nose, then walking around to stare at him curiously, his cock starting to protrude from his sheath again, just a little bit, before he left again to continue his explorations, coming back twice more, interest in Sherlock obviously returning to the forefront.

Mycroft moved swiftly once Max had trotted back off the second time. He produced a key and quickly removed the cock cage from his brother, Sherlock groaning in relief as his cock filled out and hung stiffly down behind him, pressed up against the back portion of the block.

“It looks like he may want to mount you again and I want to make sure my puppy has a good time, so if it feels good enough, you go ahead and come, in fact, you’ll be a very good pup if you do.”

Mycroft produced the bottle again and refreshed the scent on Sherlock’s hindquarters.

Sherlock whined - not that he honestly objected.

“We’ve got to get as much of his seed into you as possible, puppy. Obviously, you’re never going to conceive, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to stop trying,” Mycroft smiled.

“We’ve _very_ dedicated breeders,” Greg agreed with a good-natured chuckle, much loosened up by the wine and more relaxed interlude.

Sherlock squirmed, wiggling his hips a tiny bit - as far as the straps would allow.

“Oh look at your puppy, he’s desperate for that doggie cock now, aren’t you? Fairly addicted to it... _I hope_ ,” Greg added, grinning.

Sherlock squirmed again.

Mycroft had only just made it back to his chair when Max came back a third time, his pacing around the room having made his circuits quite a bit shorter as his interest piqued again. He sniffed at Sherlock again, then down over his privates, spending a little bit of time at his newly-freed cock, giving it a few curious licks - which made Sherlock’s whole body start and shudder - before lapping once more at his arsehole, then without further ado, rearing up into place, paws not quite where they were supposed to be - braced on the thin sheet of leather over Sherlock’s back this time - wriggling his body in closer to Sherlock’s, hips automatically thrusting already while he sought out that hole to breed.

He wasn’t as lucky this time, missing and adjusting his stance quite a few times, before finally hitting his target, pushing his cock quick and deep into Sherlock’s arse and starting to fuck him, manically. Max’s paws scampered a little in his excitement, Max shifting his front legs to come down and wrap heavily around Sherlock’s hips as he continued to thrust into him, tempo picking up; the feel of the fuzzy legs and hips moving against him, with Mycroft's and Greg’s eyes on him, toppling Sherlock right over the edge; Sherlock's muffled grunts and moans growing desperate, his cock stiffening and jetting out come time and again all over the floor and the back side of the block, arse twitching around Max’s busy cock.

There was a groan from the couch, then the stealthy slide of first one, then two zips, as the men watching gave up all pretence and palmed themselves, the sound of skin on skin as they released their cocks and stroked themselves to the sight of Sherlock getting pounded in front of them.

Max went at it hard enough that he slipped out at one point and had to shuffle and poke and breach Sherlock a second time, pistoning away rapidly, and Sherlock could be heard panting behind his muzzle while Max took what he wanted; the combined sounds of man and dog, spectacle and spectators all merging in quiet huffs and groans.

At some point, Max’s knot slipped in, then there was a shudder and deep groan from Sherlock as Max slowed down and his heated come shot down inside to begin filling him up again, Max’s hips continuing to thrust slightly before he turned himself around again, tied with Sherlock and still pumping him full.

He heard a very muffled, _“Oh god… oh christ,”_ from somewhere beside him as Mycroft stuttered to his own conclusion, and a soft grunt several seconds later as Greg hit his, followed by the sound of a tissue box being surreptitiously passed across the sofa cushions.

Sherlock noticed but barely took any of it in - lost in another universe entirely - a post-orgasmic haze, mixed with a heady subspace and the feeling of still being filled and filled and filled, vaguely aware of the groans of satisfaction his little display had brought forth.

Sherlock was panting behind his muzzle, body held up only by the block that supported him, head lowered as it felt oddly fuzzy and spinny at the same time - the exertion of having just been fucked like a bitch in heat and the new headspace messing with his perception. He closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the sensation of each new wave of come filling him, warming him from inside. This is what they’d wanted - what they’d all wanted - and here it was, Sherlock mounted, fucked and bred, tied with and being pumped full of the dog's come. He shifted his hips a little, feeling a tug from the knot inside him and groaned aloud, drawing answering ones from both Greg and Mycroft.

There was a susurration of voices, but he really couldn’t have told you what they said.

“Oh god, you really liked that doggie fucking you didn’t you? You came all over the place when he was. He didn’t even have to do more than stick his dick inside you before you were exploding. The whole idea gets you off, doesn’t it? Bet you’d like him to do that again sometime, wouldn’t you?” Greg asked, quite aware that the whole idea got _him_ off as well.

Sherlock groaned as Max continued to fill him up, his own cock starting to leak a little as Max’s knot pressed up against his prostate, getting yet another shiver and moan.

“Good boy, Sherlock,” Greg praised.

“Yes, good boy, puppy,” Mycroft added. “Good boy showing us how much you like it - good puppies _should_ like it, and you’ve been a very good - not to mention _slutty_ _-_ puppy for me."

Things were largely quiet for the next fifteen minutes while the dog deposited every last ounce of his come into Sherlock, Sherlock shivering through an aftershock every so often, while Mycroft and Greg watched, entranced.

Max’s knot eventually decreased and pulled out, leaving a rush of come rolling down the insides of Sherlock’s thighs and onto the towel beneath him, to the satisfied groans of his onlookers.

Max wandered away for a second only to come back, apparently to inspect his work, his nose stuck right up against Sherlock’s privates again, Max sniffing, then lapping interestedly at Sherlock’s slowly softening cock. The sensation was on overload and Sherlock jerked in his restraints.

“Oh this is good! Be still, Sherlock, he’s just curious - let him investigate.”

The warm tongue came back to lap at him half a dozen more times, Sherlock shaking with oversensitivity, before Max had been satisfied and finally wandered away again.

 

"That really just happened, didn't it?" Greg asked, his lips tilting up into a grin.  "We just allowed my dog to fuck the living daylights out of Sherlock. Twice." It was really more of a statement than a question, but getting confirmation was a bit of a thrill.

"Yes," Mycroft said, quite pleased. "Yes, we did."

Moments passed and a few deep breaths were had by everybody as they pulled themselves back together, both Greg and Mycroft straightening themselves up before standing.

Greg clipped the lead back onto Max’s collar and moved toward the front door, stopping in front of Sherlock and Mycroft for a moment to say goodbye, Max looking like the very happy boy he was, eyes shining and tongue lolling out just a little bit as he panted. Max looked up at the two men as they shook hands, then briefly back over at Sherlock’s face, nearly on level with his own, still looking as cheery as it seemed possible for a dog to get; Max almost missing Mycroft squatting down next to him, petting him and affectionately taking Max’s head between his palms.

“That was a very fun time tonight, Max, and it looked like you enjoyed yourself immensely, so…” he glanced over at his brother still trussed up next to them, “I’m going to say he’s yours to breed, anytime you come over. I’ll have him waiting, and if you feel like giving him a good fuck, you go right ahead.” He smiled, ruffling Max’s fur between his ears, then stood up again to finish his goodbyes.

Max turned toward Sherlock and gave him a lick across the forehead, Sherlock’s eyes shutting briefly as he tried, and failed, to duck the rather too-wet sign of affection.

There was some jovial small talk between Mycroft and Greg, and agreements to schedule future ‘play dates’ between Sherlock and Max, since this one had gone so very, very well. Then Sherlock’s own head was ruffled and Greg and Max bid them both adieu.

Mycroft stood, looking down at Sherlock, very satisfied, yet still processing the evening to some degree. He knelt down beside him, slowly undoing the straps and fasteners.

“You were very good for me tonight, puppy, I’m proud,” Mycroft said softly, Sherlock giving him an affectionate bump with his head. “But now you’re a very dirty puppy indeed, so let’s take care of that.”

All restraints released, Mycroft clipped the lead onto Sherlock’s collar and led him down the hall to the bathroom to have his bath to be clean and ready to go into his crate for the night, this weekend’s bit of puppy play _very_ successful indeed!

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a second to comment! 
> 
> Stuff like this is nerve-wracking to write and put out there, so hearing that people appreciate it really helps! 
> 
> And while regular comments and kudos are wonderful (more than wonderful - absolutely fantastic!), if you'd rather not be identified by name, you can log out to make an anonymous comment (or to leave anonymous kudos as well!), and that would still be lovely! Just knowing you took the time to do that means a lot!


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